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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630518">Reflection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kichihoshi/pseuds/kichihoshi'>kichihoshi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:15:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kichihoshi/pseuds/kichihoshi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two fires light up on either side of the world.</p>
<p>Then, people forget to tell, there is a third kind of flame; both the storm, and the calm.<br/>When they finally meet, what will they become?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rook Hunt/Vil Schoenheit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reflection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>Two fires light up on either side of the world.</p></div><div class=""><p>The first fire is a beacon at night.</p></div><div class=""><p> The day of coursing has come to a conclusion, yet he knows it doesn’t end like this. Lusher are the trees on his way back, seemingly whispering, eyeing him with an unscrupulous shake of their leaves. The language of trees is guided by the wind, and he was no stranger to his. He understands the silly little game they want to play, so he indulges in a playful call of nature for a little bit.</p></div><div class=""><p>The sun sets just as he skips over thick roots, hands pressing onto tree trunks to keep himself from falling. Sometimes, as he swears it, the flora move as they want, shaking the ground ever so subtly that, and to the untrained senses, would mean nothing. But the young hunter understands this demand, and tells them it’s okay, that he will stay for a while.</p></div><div class=""><p>The rocks would welcome him, not making a sound, and he takes their invitation and sits on a throne unknown to any man. For a while, the silence would prevail, the air dead and hostile. Certainly, there were times when danger lurked behind the shadows, sharpening its claws with time, readying itself for the endgame.</p></div><div class=""><p>But the truth is, more often than not, what lies behind the uncertainty, are the soft eyes of a curious animal, and the hunter stands from his throne of rocks, and makes his way towards the beckoning gentle beast. But how foolish of a prey to call for his predator, walking right at death’s door?</p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>The game nature asks him to participate in is only to paint a display of the truth. That he is a hunter, that he is a boy; that he knows the price to pay for slaughter, so he doesn’t; that he too, is of the earth, and across the fields he may go, he will always belong.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wanders the wilderness with a heart of steel, as sharp as the tip of his arrow, and yet there is no need to be on guard, because once the wind howls and the night prevails, the fire from a distance also burns brighter, calling him home.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The second fire is lit in daylight.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For what reason does it serve when the sun is gracing the land with its ferocious gaze? The wood sinks beneath the snow, threatening to devour burned embers, killing the flames with its icy glaze. Sometimes, the sun is not warm enough, and the cold creeps into him, paralyzing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>One would say he is used to the dawn of winter, and yet the taste of warmth once felt would drive anyone mad for it. He watches over the fireplace, the snow continuously falling from the chimney, purging the flames, as if to remind him that winter has taken its rightful place and has started its reign, and fire has no business meddling in its affairs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But surely, one can fight nature with nature, just as he decided to go against his own barriers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A conflicted heart knows no remedy unless it is driven towards what one wants, and like a moth drawing into the flame, he throws a log to keep the fire burning, defying the very order of nature.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Because what he wants is simple, and that is change. But alas, nothing comes as more complicated as opposition, especially in the face of antiquated beliefs; and yet, fire is no season, fire knows no time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It does not wait for the rain to pass, nor does it shy away from the storm of sands; it charges forward, setting the path alight against all odds.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And this is all this young actor has within his heart, to engulf the stage with his passion, for his audience to see him in a novel spark; and perhaps he’ll see himself just as differently, and be assured that when you fight against what you are supposedly destined for, yours will be the crown of glory.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then, people forget to tell, there is a third kind of flame; both the storm, and the calm.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When they finally meet, what will they become?</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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